You have asked me what the crustaceans spin in their golden claws
and I reply: the sea knows.
You ask me, what does the sea squirt wait for in its transparent globe ? For what is it waiting?
I tell you that like you, it waits for the time.
You ask me, who does the giant kelp reach to embrace?
Inquire, ask me this again, at a certain hour, in a certain sea that I know.
You will undoubtedly ask me about the cursed ivory of the narwhale, and I will have to describe the manner in which the sea unicorn dies, harpooned and suffering.
Perhaps you will ask me about the untroubled feathers that tremble in the pure origins of the austral tide pools?
And about the jellyfish's crystalline construction--you are no doubt toying with this other problem, trying to unriddle it now?
Do you want to know the electric matter of the seafloor's spines?
The armed stalactite that cracks as it walks?
The lure of the anglerfish, its siren song drawn out in the depths like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you that the sea knows this
that life in its jewel boxes is wide as the sand
impossible to count and pure
and amid the fruits of bloodshed, time has polished smooth the pearl
filled the jellyfish with light
and untangled its bouquet of coral strands,
from a cornucopia of infinite iridescence.

I am nothing but the empty net that advances
human eyes, lifeless in this darkness
fingers accustomed to the triangle, the dimensions
of the orange's shy hemisphere

I lived like you, probing
the interminable star
and in my net during the night, I awoke, naked
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind

Friday, March 06, 2009

Thursday, March 05, 2009

I sort of wish I was still in sixth grade, when Sophie decided she was dating Sean and they "went out" by talking on AIM and the rest of us were sort of jealous but also unanimously agreed that boys were gross.

Because it's a little more than ridiculous to be watching two of your friends playing pong and then realizing that yes, one day, they could get married and it would really not be a bad thing.

I do really wish that I could capture the way her eyes and her voice change when her phone rings and answers and it's him. I would say something about "lighting up" but that's stupid and overused and cheesy and it isn't that simple at all.

You stupid fucking whores. So the new president is a minority. Great. He's also pretty fucking kickass, but no. You, not I, care about his race. And now that this is on the table YOU ARE NOT EVEN THE SAME RACE AS HIM. So he's a "fellow minority." Oh that's a GREAAAAAAT line of thought. "Us" versus "them." That's worked so well in the past.

I realize that I cannot understand, nay, that I am not allowed to understand, but this is how you look to me.

I hate that you have sweatshirts. Can't we just all be people?but then what would you bitch about